


Defective Detective

by AnneElliot



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chess, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneElliot/pseuds/AnneElliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't deduce John.  Has he lost his mind?  We learn how Sherlock does his deductions and why it stops working on John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defective Detective

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a vague 'after Sherlock comes back and he and John get together' time. A little Shakespeare sneaks in because I can't help myself.

The Tuesday Sherlock realized he’d lost his mind seemed like any other day at first.  They didn’t have any cases.  John went to work at the clinic.  Sherlock finished up some experiments, then assumed his usual position on the couch to work on organizing his mind palace.  When he heard John’s footsteps on the stairs, he tidied the shelf he was on and returned to the outside world.  As the door opened, he looked up and saw John smiling at him.  He started to return the smile, then froze.  He could deduce nothing about John.  He saw John, coming to him for a welcome home kiss, but no string of deductions flooded his brain.  He saw John, his John, and his brain was flooded with positive chemicals, memories, fantasies, hopes for the future, maybe even love but NO DEDUCTIONS.  He had no idea what John had done that day, where he had been, who he had seen.  Was he having a stroke?  Or had he just lost his mind?

 John obviously realized something was up.  Instead of pinning Sherlock on the couch and kissing him senseless, as he often did, he leaned over and dropped a kiss on his forehead.  “New case?” he asked.

 Sherlock stared at him.  I can’t tell him. He loves me for my deductions.  What if I can never deduce again?  What if he leaves me?  But if I am having a stroke, he is a doctor. 

 “Sherlock?” prompted John.

 Sherlock decided – no.  Keep it quiet for now.  “Old case,” he lied.  “But I think I might have realized something.  Don’t talk to me, please.”  He jumped up and started to pace.

 John, perfect as always, simply said, “Right.  I’m for a shower, then” and left him alone.  Sherlock paced but his panic didn’t subside.  Nicotine, he thought, I need a patch or three.   He reached into his desk drawer but the box was gone.  He thought back.  There definitely should still be patches there.  He stormed into the bathroom. “John, my patches are gone.  I NEED my nicotine patches.”

 John’s sigh was audible even over the shower.  “You’re cutting down, remember, Sherlock?”

 “Not NOW!  I need them.  I can’t solve this without them.”

 “I’ll be out in a few minutes, Sherlock.  Surely you can wait that long.”

 “NO!  TELL ME!”

 “OK, OK, but you’re giving me the box back when I get out.”

 “Fine, whatever, where are they?”

 “Behind the washing powder.”

 “Where?”

 “In the cupboard above the washing machine as you’d know if you ever,” John trailed off as he heard the door slam.

 Sherlock took advantage of the fact that John was in the shower to apply two patches to his bum before he put three on his arm.  He knew John would make him take two of them off, but if he didn’t know about two of them, this could still be a three patch problem.  He lay on the couch and slowed his breathing.  He concentrated on trying to relax his body and remove all the adrenalin from his system.  As the nicotine slowly entered his system, and his mind calmed, he pictured the people other than John that he’d seen in the last three days.  It hadn’t been many: Mrs. Hudson, Molly, the butcher, and Lestrade.  As he pictured each one, a stream of deductions filled his mind.  Perhaps he could still deduce or was he simply remembering the deductions he’d made at the time?  When he’d finished all of them, he reluctantly pictured John coming in the door.  Deductions filled his mind.  Walked home, rough day but nothing major, just a feeling of futility – maybe a chronic patient who wouldn’t follow orders and lots of boring cases.  Sarah hadn’t been at the clinic today.  So he could still deduce, but couldn’t when John came home. What was the common thread?  He needed more data.

 John emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel.  He headed straight for Sherlock.  “The box,” he commanded.  Only John could sound so commanding without any of the trappings of command – without even clothes.  Sherlock looked at him and again, not a single deduction.  So he couldn’t deduce in John’s presence.  Was it some type of pheromones?  But why now and why even after a shower?  He needed more data.

 “SHERLOCK, the box,” repeated John.  “It’s on the table,” muttered Sherlock, sounding sulky even to himself.

 “Fine, now your arm,” ordered John.  Sherlock obediently held out his arm.  John peeled back his shirt sleeve. “Three patches is not cutting down, Sherlock,” he pointed out as he peeled two of the patches off.  “I’m knackered,” he went on.  “Chinese and the telly do OK for you?”

 “No,” said Sherlock, jumping to his feet. “We have to go to Angelo’s right now.  Get dressed.”

 “Why?” said John.  “You said it was an old case. Surely another day won’t matter.”

 “No time to explain,” Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he headed for his closet. “I’m leaving in 5 minutes with or without you.  But I really need you to come.”

 “Fine,” sighed John.  “But you better explain once we get there.”

 “Please, John, didn't you hear me say, ‘Don’t talk to me’?”

 As usual, John dressed quickly. Sherlock ignored his muttering, which sounded suspiciously like “thought I left all that ‘speak only when spoken to’ in the army”.  In the promised five minutes, they were headed out to Angelo’s.  Sherlock waved down a cab.  He wasn't sure whether his deductions about the cab driver were a comfort or not.  He could still deduce, even with John standing beside him.  So probably not pheromones.  Did John have to be in front of him?  But why would that stop his deductions?

He pondered all the way to Angelo’s.  When they arrived, he slipped in first, leaving John to pay for the cab. He wanted the perfect table. Not their usual by the window, but one in the back, where he could see the most people but still have John directly in front of him.

John ordered something for him to eat, waved off Angelo’s offer of a candle with a low voiced, “we’re on a case”, and only spoke to Sherlock to make him eat.  Sherlock frantically observed the people in the restaurant.  Each one had a story visible to anyone who cared to look and think. But every time he looked back at John, not a single deduction came into his head.  Just John.  No deductions, no clever observations, nothing.  He started panicking again. What if this was the beginning of the end?  He started telling John his deductions about their fellow diners, just to hear his admiration.

Finally, when they’d turned down a sweet and Angelo brought coffee, John held up his hand to stop Sherlock’s latest set of deductions.  “Stop.” he said.  “Tell me what’s going on. This is unusual, even for you.”

“Unusual?” parried Sherlock.  “You’ve seen me come home with a harpoon covered in blood.”

“Yes,” replied John, calmly.  “And that was not unusual for you.  But tonight is.  What are you afraid of?”

“Honestly, John,” began Sherlock but John cut him off.  “No, Sherlock.  The truth.  You promised.  No more lies.”

 Sherlock sighed. “Alright,” he whispered. He moved his chair around the table and gently took John’s face in his hands.  He leaned down for a kiss as passionate and gentle and loving as he could make it.  If this was their last kiss, he wanted it to be a good one.

John happily kissed him back, but clearly had not forgotten his question.  He captured Sherlock’s right hand in both of his.  “It’s alright, love,” he whispered.  “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.”

Sherlock’s eyes fell.  He whispered, “No, you’ll either leave or handle it on your own.  I wouldn’t blame you for leaving.  I’ve lost my mind.”  He wasn’t sure what he expected from John, but a roar of laughter wasn’t it.  He stared at John.  Actually, everyone stared at John.  It wasn’t terribly unusual to see two men kissing in Angelo’s, but it didn’t usually lead to belly laughter. John tried to stop, but he kept erupting in giggles.  Finally, he managed to say, “Trust me, Sherlock.  I’m a doctor.  You have not lost your mind.  You are just as amazing and infuriating as usual.  But please tell me. What makes you think you lost your mind?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “This is NOT funny, John.  Do you always laugh at your patients? I need a diagnosis.”

“OK, I’ll play along.  Let me take some history.  When did you notice that you’d lost your mind?”

This was better.  John was a good doctor. Maybe he could diagnose the problem and cure it.  Sherlock straightened and prepared to give a careful history.  “When you came home from work today.”

“When I came in, did you smell or taste anything unusual?”

“Really, John, I’m hardly schizophrenic.”

 “I’m the doctor, Sherlock.  Answer the question.”

 “No, I did not.  It wasn’t a hallucination of any kind – visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory, or gustatory.”

 “What did you experience when I came home?  Keep in mind that slight dizziness is not uncommon when experiencing sudden arousal.”

 “John!  Be serious.  I wasn’t dizzy.  I saw you and, and,”

 John’s voice was suddenly serious, but comforting. It was his “I’m a doctor and will make it all better voice.”  “Just tell me, simply.”

 “Nothing,” blurted Sherlock.  “I didn’t have a single deduction.  Usually, every time I look at someone I get a series of deductions but this time – nothing.  I didn’t know anything about your day or anything. I thought I’d lost my ability all together, but tonight I deduced everyone here.  I thought it might be pheromones or something, but I can deduce when you are here, I just can’t deduce _you._ ” 

 John considered this a moment.  “Has this ever happened before?” he asked.

Sherlock thought.  “Not since I mastered making deductions when I was 12.”

 “Tell me about that,” John said.  “How did you learn to make deductions?”

 Sherlock thought back.  The process had been so automatic for so many years, it was hard to remember.  “First I started learning to take photographs for my mind palace.  Then, I started looking for patterns.  Eventually, I developed my process.”

 “Describe your process for me.”

 “Well, first I take a picture for my mind palace.  Then I examine a few specific indicators.  Based on those, I look through my pattern index for possible matches, then I look for confirmatory evidence.”

 “What are the specific indicators that you look at?”

 “I made an acronym: CHESS. That was before I learned that my mind palace was better than acronyms but I’ve kept it because I invented it myself and it might be useful when I teach my methods.”

 “Very good.  And what does it stand for?”

 “Clothes, Hands, Eyes, Shoes, Stance. From those, you’d be amazed what you can learn about a person.”

 “So when you meet a person, you are cataloguing their clothes, hands, eyes, shoes, and stance against your pattern index and that’s how you make deductions?”

 “Yes, and it always works.  Until today.  I don’t even have to think about it anymore, it just happens.  It’s only when I have to explain that I slow it down and realize how I did it.”

 “Ah, and can you do that with me?  Can you look at my clothes, hands, eyes, shoes, and stance and make deductions slowly?”

 “Yes, and in fact I looked at my picture of you and made deductions, but it was WORK.  It didn’t happen automatically.  What if I’m losing my ability?  I won’t even be able to keep bees if I can’t reason.”

 John smiled at him. “I think I have a diagnosis.  But just a couple more questions. What do you see when you look at me, if not deductions?”

 Sherlock paused, “I see you the day we first met.  I see you at my grave.  I see your anger when you realized I lied.  I see the first time we kissed. I see you running at the danger to protect me.  I see us growing old together.  I see you making tea and cursing the pin and chip machine and hiding my cigarettes and watching crap telly.  I see you healing and fighting and loving and being…. John.”

 John’s eyes glistened with sudden tears.  He blinked rapidly and forced a smile.  “Yes,” he said.  “I have a diagnosis.  You are mad.  But it’s OK.”

 “OK?  How can it be OK?  Is there a treatment?  What am I going to do?”

 John pressed a quick kiss to his lips.  “Shh.” he whispered.  “It’s OK because I have it, too.”

 “What?  How does that make it OK?”

 “Because, Sherlock, this is something that only applies to me.  You will still be able to deduce everyone else.  I’m sure you deleted Romeo and Juliet or you would remember “Love is …a madness most discreet.” 

 “So you’re saying I love you and that’s why my brain stops working when I see  you?”

“Not exactly.  Think about it, Sherlock.  Your brain doesn’t stop working when you see me.  You were actually thinking a lot of things. But when you look at other people, you see their characteristics first, and only later, if at all, do you see them as a whole person.  When you look at me, you see me as a person, not as a set of Clothes, Hands, Eyes, Shoes and Stance.  I think it’s the greatest compliment any one has ever given me.”

Sherlock considered this.  “It does make sense.  So this is what love is?  Seeing another person as whole?”

John paused. “I don’t know if it’s all of love, but part of it certainly.  I don’t know if I’d call it a symptom or a contributing factor, but it definitely goes with the territory.”

“So you don’t think this will spread?”

“Oh, you may have flashes of humanity now and then, but I’m confident you’ll learn to ignore them with everyone but me.  Now, can we go home?  I want to peel off the other two nicotine patches.”

“But,” sputtered Sherlock.

John grinned.  “Honestly, Sherlock, you are pretty far gone if you didn’t realize I’d never tell you where the box was if I didn’t know exactly how many were in it.  And even farther gone if you thought I’d leave you if you couldn’t deduce any more.  Now that I’ve gotten my hands on that glorious arse, I’m never giving it up.”

Sherlock suddenly felt lighter than he had all day.  “Home,” he agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated. I actually had a dream that prompted this. I can't remember any of the details, but as I woke up, I thought, "Remember the important point: Sherlock can't deduce John because he sees him as a whole person."
> 
> I enjoyed coming up with Sherlock's method of making deductions and would love to hear what you think of it.


End file.
